Chapter 42 #2
“Yet she wore your bracelet,” the High Binder said again, as if that single fact were proof enough of Sabine’s guilt.
Sabine recognized the angle of attack: a classic pivot from evidence to implication. “I do not know how she came into possession of it, Your Eminence. As I said, I haven’t seen it in weeks.”
“Intriguing.” The High Binder set the ledger down.
Sabine could not see their face beneath the veil, but she had the distinct feeling that whatever expression they wore held a predatory edge.
“Let us discuss the cause of death, then. The young lady’s throat was slit clean, one singular cut from ear to ear. ”
They pointed to her left hand, where the cut from her blood vow remained clearly visible, angry red at the edges, scabbed in a jagged crescent.
“You cut yourself for your vow, did you not? Highly unusual, especially for a lady. It is customary to allow a clerk to perform the incision. You must have quite the familiarity with a knife to feel comfortable pressing it to your own skin.”
A gasp, more theatrical than genuine, swept the gallery. Even as dread clawed at her chest like a vice, Sabine schooled her features, refusing to rise to the bait.
The girl hadn’t died from the knife cut.
Sabine was certain of that. She’d watched enough pigs be slaughtered in her time at the valenhold to know that, when someone’s throat was cut, blood sputtered everywhere.
Sabine doubted the killer had taken the time to bathe the body and change her gown after slicing her throat.
To prove her theory further, there was the matter of the blue-tinged nails and lips.
But the fact that the High Binder hadn’t mentioned any of that did not bode well for Sabine. Should she call them out on it? Or would it be too dangerous?
“I have no particular affinity for weapons.” She lifted her palm to show the rather gruesome cut. “If I did, I wouldn’t have mangled myself so.” Then, to give weight to her statement, she added, “Feel free to ask my lady’s maid or anyone who’s been in my employment.”
Sabine felt rather than saw the moment she made a wrong move.
The High Binder straightened, circling their neck like a predator.
Whatever Sabine had said, she’d given them an opening.
Except she didn’t know what it’d been, so she couldn’t scramble to close it.
Her heart rate kicked up. She exhaled slowly, counting three breaths.
“I see,” was all they said.
Before Sabine could attempt a defense, Azrian strode in, followed closely by Lady Delarine. He did not bow or even incline his head. He came to stand by Sabine’s chair, resting one hand on the back.
The High Binder acknowledged them with the faintest nod. “Lord Vaelros. Lady Delarine.”
Azrian spoke first. “On what grounds is my wife detained?”
The High Binder seemed almost amused. “She is not detained. She is a witness to a crime of magnitude, and as such, her testimony must be thoroughly vetted.”
Lady Delarine cut in. “We watched your vetting .” She spat the word like a curse. “You turned a witness box into a pillory.”
The High Binder’s lips twitched. “The integrity of the process required transparency. Surely you, as part of the Royal Circle, would understand.”
Lady Delarine narrowed her eyes, but didn’t insist.
Azrian, however, did. “If this is merely a matter of gathering testimony, why was my wife’s bracelet admitted as primary evidence against her?”
The High Binder leaned back, hands folding in their lap. “The evidence is not primary. Merely suggestive.”
“Then you have nothing,” Azrian said. “Except a corpse wearing a piece of jewelry that, by my own memory and that of our entire household, has been missing for over two weeks.”
The High Binder did not react. “Your memory may be imperfect, Lord Vaelros.”
Azrian’s hand clenched so tightly the veins stood out. “My memory is supported by the testimony of three staff and the records of our Registry escort, who catalogued all my wife’s effects the morning after our blood vow. The bracelet was already gone.”
Lady Delarine leaned forward. “And I, as matron of the wedding, can attest to the same. If the Gilt’s entire social network can recall the last time Lady Vaelros wore that bracelet, perhaps the Registry ought to investigate how it came to be on the deceased’s wrist. Especially if the time of death is inconsistent with Lady Vaelros’s possession of it. ”
“Time of death is an imprecise art, Your Grace.”
Azrian’s lips quirked in a wolfish smile, as if he knew he had the High Binder caught in a corner. “Surely, you’re not suggesting the time of death could be anywhere between last night and last month, Your Eminence?”
Murmurs fluttered throughout the gallery. The High Binder’s fingers tightened on the ledger.
Azrian continued. “If you wish to accuse my wife of something, do it openly. Otherwise, I insist you release her at once.”
The room went quiet. The High Binder stared at the desk. Finally, they sighed. “Very well. Lady Vaelros, you are released from obligation to remain on Registry grounds. However, you are required to be available for further inquiry, should new evidence arise.”
They left together through a back door, Azrian touching the small of Sabine’s back, Lady Delarine gliding ahead as if clearing the air by force of will alone.
“Ellie came to fetch me,” Azrian explained as they rushed out of the building. “What were you thinking, maddening creature, not waking me in the first place?”
“If I had, you’d have been in there with me being questioned, now.”
Lady Delarine pressed a hand to Sabine’s shoulder. “We need to get you home. There will be a dozen gossip mongers waiting outside.”
They descended the stairs in a phalanx, the Duchess at the fore, Azrian and Sabine arm in arm. Outside, the sun had climbed high enough to turn the marble bright as teeth. On the steps, a sea of parasols and quizzical gazes awaited.
Lady Delarine did not hesitate. She swept through the crowd with the majesty of a warship, not sparing a glance for the onlookers.
Azrian matched her stride, Sabine at his side, her own head high despite the ache that ran from neck to ankles.
They reached the waiting gondola, its lacquered doors reflecting the crowd upon itself.
Inside, silence swallowed them, and Sabine could finally breathe.
“You did well in there, child.”
Sabine looked out the window. In the sea of faces outside, she saw Liora again, standing with her friends, her expression as carefully neutral as before.
The ache returned, but Sabine forced herself to hold her sister’s gaze as long as she could.
Liora blinked first. Whether it was shame, relief, or cold calculation that drove her to look away, Sabine could not say.
The gondola shuddered into motion, drawing them across the canals and away from the Registry.
“Your Grace,” Sabine found the breath to ask, “did you send for me last night?”
Lady Delarine didn’t so much as blink. “I did not. Though you must have figured as much by now.”
Sabine exhaled. “It was all a trap, then.” She shook her head, as if clearing a haze. “The girl did not die from a knife cut.”
Her husband and the Duchess turned to look at her. Sabine continued, “I examined the body before being discovered. There was no blood. And her skin was… blue.”
She did not have to explain further for Azrian to understand. “Ice weaving.”
Lady Delarine scratched her chin. “The Registry would surely catch such a detail. If they didn’t…”
“It means they are involved,” Azrian concluded. “Did the girl—”
“Bear a mark? Yes.”
He tilted his head back and swore, smothering the words with a hand dragged over his mouth.
Sabine could already picture the stories winding through the parlors and salons: herself as monstrous, her blood vow to the most dangerous man in the Empire driving her to madness and now, murder.
Sabine pressed her palm to the cold glass, watching the city recede behind them. She felt the noose cinch, one click at a time, and wondered if the Registry would bother with a rope at all, or simply let rumor and suspicion do the work.